


Left in a breath

by natalie19h34



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sorry (not sorry), Supernatural Elements, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, apparently I like letting my sons suffer, why do most of my works contain some sort of magic tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalie19h34/pseuds/natalie19h34
Summary: You know when you can't escape your mind? When flickering flames burn so bright and the tumultous screams only increase and you're feeling beyond helpless; drawing in despair with every breath you take. What do you do?or: Lucas is trapped between heat and dark after unwillingly receiving an ominous power.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Left in a breath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [julilolil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/julilolil/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to Ju. You've shown extraordinary support and your kind words mean a lot to me. I hope you'll like it! It's basically inspired by your writing and a late evening thought.  
> [Disclaimer: This work contains incredibly unhealthy coping mechanisms, such as more or less detailed descriptions of self-inflicted almost-drowning. Please stay safe.]

Isolation and darkness.

These two build the base line, the construction of his self-made downfall, right now. Lucas is not entirely conscious of them; they merely thrum in the space surrounding, pressing on him. The entirety of his instincts screams at him to just _act_. Self-preservation being the main focus and fighting against his will so mercilessly. It's a rush unlike anything else; he's using his body to flip the switch and force thoughts to reduce to the bare minimum. 

His whole chest hurts. Airways on fire and throat contracted painfully with the desperate urge to pump oxygen through his system; to keep him alive. He can't manage to swallow - pressure increasing. He opens his mouth and lets the last bits he has to give escape. Eyes staring into the nothingness of the pitch black ocean. He naturally tilts his head upwards in search of the sun, of any source of light, despite him knowing he's abandoned himself beneath an overcast sky, today. 

  
  


Lacking direction. 

Fluid inky. 

Masses devouring. 

  
  


Time molds and shifts shapes and becomes indistinguishable. He used to count the seconds and, eventually, minutes. Lids closed to enhance concentration (sometimes dread), he couldn't help but _count, count, count_. He's a curious creature by nature and limits are bendable. He's irregular; peculiar, anyway. So he craves standstill anguishedly. 

He knows he's about to enter eternity if he's not careful enough. Body getting heavier and heavier, limps straining from keeping him in position and he feels so cold. Tingles lessening and numbness spreading in alarming velocity. 

He's gonna drown if he allows. 

His throat spasms and with the remaining fragments of energy he drags himself through clinging ice, lacking knowledge of where earth meets sky. 

The emergence is abrupt and almost brutal in the forming horizon and Lucas struggles to not get crushed beneath the ever-moving waves expanding the surface. He automatically draws in oxygen as quickly as possible, gulping down compulsively, passing by sore airways and he feels so dizzy. He's too distracted to find orientation, even struggles to hold his head above the surface. He would never make it to the shore if he actually tried to swim, so he envisions the process, connects with the weakened aptitude inside him, tugs expertly -

  
  


\- and de-materializes. 

  
  


Vision blurred and mind a scattered mess, he barely even feels the gravel beneath his palms and knees, digging into tender skin; partly veiled, partly bare. It feels like his senses have lessened in sharpness and rearranged in a foreign pattern. Foreign even to him. 

He coughs erratically. With a heaving chest Lucas collapses onto his back and lets darkness swallow him - once more. Detachment leading him towards the last stop or a layover. 

* * *

  
  


He's late, but he got everything he needed. A hot shower half an hour ago worked wonders and left him satisfied for the moment; steamy stream loosening his locked muscles and orange shower gel extending and lacing. 

Now he's on his way across the main bridge, dressed in autumn leaves of the most beautiful shades. Rays reflecting on the wet ground, illuminating the scenery so fittingly. His strides mirror the savoring, almost careful mentality. 

He's wrapped a broad scarf all around his neck, drawn up over the lower half of his face. The cozy wool hides his smile and keeps it all to itself. Like a trusted keeper. There's even a small, tricolored bouquet in his hand, its scent permeating and reaching whenever wind changes and dances; of ephemeral quality. 

He's late, however the walk towards his destiny luminesces too wondrously to rush it. Or to cut it short. He's almost giddy with excitement, drenched in anticipation. Passing by lamps and benches, dogs and playing children, there's an atmosphere full of promises and secrets and new beginnings. 

There's rare, easy enjoyment filling him to the brim. 

  
  
  
  


He climbs the crooked, broad steps and rings the doorbell enthusiastically. There's a light breeze ruffling his hair, tugging at branches. The arrangement of pumpkins next to the entrance laid out too soon, too impatiently; he taps one of the bulkiest with the tip of his shoe as the door opens. 

"You're even less punctual than usually", Eliott states so correctly. 

"Shut up", Lucas huffs in response before he kisses Eliott quickly on the mouth and shoves his body ungracefully inside. "I'm happy." 

"Yeah?" And there it is, that extraordinarily stunning smile that nearly blinds Lucas every single time and that he wishes to see preferably all day long. He lowers his gaze untypically shyly and his eyes catch on the blossoms he absolutely forgot about as soon as he got to see Eliott. 

"Here." He extends his arm. Adds, unnecessarily "for you."

Eliott takes the bouquet from him in a gentle manner and stares at it with something akin to awe. There's a whispered "Thank you"; arms slung around Lucas' waist. A kiss to his nose and cheek and forehead: lips searingly hot on his autumn-cool skin. "I'm gonna put them in a vase. Make yourself at home, love."

Lucas hums, strips himself of scarf, jacket, frostiness. It hasn't been that long since his last visit and the apartment looks pretty much the same besides added drawings, a new, giant plant in the corner and an atypical tidiness. 

"You've cleaned? For me?" 

There's a chuckle from the adjacent room as well as a negotiation. 

"For my parents. They came by, this week. They asked for you." 

Eliott emerges from the kitchen and places the flowers on the low living room table. There's something from Lucas here, now. Something that's now living in Eliott's close vicinity for a limited period of time. He envies it. 

"That's because they love me." 

It's a statement they both know is correct and if he dwelled on it in this moment, he would spill so much more of himself inside Eliott's room. 

They stand so close now, again, that Lucas can feel Eliott's body heat and it's fully encompassing. He puts his palms on the warm stomach, beneath the hoodie and steals _more, more, more_. 

"And you love me too." 

It's just a low mumble, though Eliott's heard him. With a smirk he picks at Lucas' hair. 

"I'm that obvious, huh?" 

It's an orange leaf that must have stuck there; Lucas spares it merely a glance, his main focus lies on the lips before him. However, maybe he should start elsewhere.. 

A kiss near the jugularis: "You're not exactly skilled in subtlety." 

The jaw, hitching breath as a consequence: "And tell me often."

A stop right before Eliott's mouth, as he drags his fingernails down: "However, there's no such thing as _too_ often."

"I do. I do love you, Lucas Lallemant. So much", Eliott whispers back and closes the remaining centimeter. 

And it's another peace of mind. Different every time, with an intimate beat of familiarity and belonging. He wants to consume it and be consumed in return, without the dread of getting lost; Eliott holds him so steadily. In this timeless bubble he doesn't feel like he has to go to the extremes in order to escape this agonizing pulling that drains him of any coherence and clarity. Here, with his fingers touching the skin of his other half and his tongue being chased after, he's lost and found. 

  
  
  
  


The sun is in the process of setting as Eliott traces the line of his spine, propped up on one elbow beside him. Lucas hums happily, entirely satisfied after such prolonged, affectionate togetherness. Body mellow and mind quiet. He even sees the room lit brightly behind closed eyes. He should watch the rays caressing Eliott's sharp lines and beautiful irises if he wasn't so sleepy. 

  
  


"Did you hurt yourself?" 

The soft-voiced question catches him off guard and he blinks his eyes open, after all; only knowing what Eliott is referring to as fingers wander to his right flank. It's still a little tender to the touch, but he can't tell how much the bruise has fainted already. There's too much fondness in the golden bedroom; in the connection between them. He can't stain it with a lie - or more silence. How ambiguous a thing can be; craved and despised depending on the situation. 

The careful touches don't falter as Lucas confesses: "I… I accidentally hit a rock." 

It feels so far away to him, at this moment. As though it happened to him in a dream or a fantasy, or not at all. He's not sure he can explain himself without sounding like he's lost his grip on reality. And maybe he has; but then again, he's able to do things no one should be capable of doing. He's the odd one, probably. Definitely weird. He hasn't sorted out anything yet, really, so why burden Eliott with an unearthly truth? 

"How?" 

It's such a simple inquiry, isn't it. Lucas knows Eliott believes this bizarre explanation that makes next to no sense. It did happen like that, that is. He was incautious and his thoughts were on fire and he was so desperate for release; a distraction. Adrenalin and coldness numbed the impact until he was home and mildly worried he might have hurt himself seriously, this time. 

Lucas turns on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling, choosing his words deliberately. 

"You know when you can't escape your mind?" 

It's more of a rhetorical introduction. There's only a brief pause, Eliott searching for skin on skin contact again. Overwhelming love rushes through Lucas' system as their fingers intertwine and he holds on to the caginess by a thinning thread. He dares to detach his stare and locks eyes with Eliott’s. 

"Yeah", comes the agreement, then. "When you try your best, but it's sometimes not enough. When you have to get up and do it again. And again. I mean.. you know."

"I only know it from the outside. Sometimes I wish I could liquify and help you fight the battles, Eliott." 

He's hoped he could evolve, lately. Impossible scenarios seemed more tangible and if only he tried hard enough, he could be successful, he'd thought; helpful. It's been in vain. He doesn't even know enough of the exact chemical workings, but he possesses devotion and willpower. 

"You're doing more than enough Lucas. Your presence is calming." The reassurance tickles a small smile out of Lucas. "And it's currently pretty good, all in all. With the meds. With my routine. With art. It's not linear, but it's working." 

Eliott shrugs slightly and not for the first time Lucas admires his strength; the infinite pool of love for the simplest of things. He feels so lucky, stares shamelessly and surely in awe. 

"But that's not what it's like for you, I assume?" 

Right. They were talking about Lucas and his bruise and the flames. He clears his throat. 

"No. No, I don't think so." 

The room's covered in shadows and hues of violet; surely the moon will arrive soon and grace the land with a sheen of silver and dreams. The night provides space for secrets, for the incomprehensible and perhaps he should make some use of that quality. To let the veil sink and his heart open. 

He draws the blanket up to his chin. 

"It's like a force. It seems too big for my body, sometimes. My skin stretches and is too tight."

A frown appears and the worry he didn't mean to cause. "For how long?" 

He feels a lump fork in his throat and the telltale pickle of tears. He's held it in for so long and the pressure threatens to resurface. He fists the bedsheet with his free hand. 

"A couple of weeks. Not many months. The ache is the worst in my head. It's loud and.. cataclysmic."

It's only logical that Eliott asks whether he's been to a professional with these ailments. It's rational and reasonable and everything that his situation isn't. These are symptoms; bitter fruits and he knows where the roots are leading to. The prize for a gift he never requested to have mastery over. 

His "There's more" is accompanied by a quiver, but he refrains from letting the floodgates open. He feels pushed, then. Eliott's patience is inexhaustible and the both of them are guarded creatures by nature, by influence. He's standing in front of a sturdy wall, too plain to get a safe grip on and haul himself over - and he's so scared a single misstep will have him lose hold. He's too clumsy trying to catch even one enlightened string of thoughts. He's just - incapable; vocal chords failing on him. 

In order to avoid eye contact and in search for more comfort, he snuggles closer and Eliott envelops him immediately. 

"Lucas."

He stubbornly shakes his head, eyes squinted shut. The sure heartbeat beneath his tips provides the security and anchor needed and his own breathing slows down. He's being hugged firmly. 

"It's alright, love. Tell me when you can. You remember how long it took me to open up completely? People need their time." 

Lucas listens to the near intonation attentively. A flicker of endearment moving between pulse and cadence and he's being reminded of it again. _This person is his home_. Then his cheek is being cupped and stroked and - 

"I love you, too, Eliott Demaury. So much." 

It's a whisper solely meant for one person on this earth to hear. A simple statement, eight words having the ability to bear the enormous significance and edgeless substance of such a declaration. It won't diminish when he utters it, hushed, but multiply tenfold. It'll be kept dearly. He can't help but add "I will explain it. I promise."

It's a flight and a foundation; neither here nor there as it rests settled, nestled between them. And maybe it's enough; and maybe it doesn't have to be enough, right now. 

  
  
  
  


The following day finds Lucas in a tiltable intermediate stage. He tries to not give it too much thought; to repress it. He calls himself to mind that he's surrounded by so much clemency and coziness. 

There's a plate full of sweet peach-almond galette awaiting him at the kitchen table; Eliott's mum had baked it as she and her husband had come for a visit, he gets told. Homemade goods have a special place in Lucas' heart. It looks delicious, sat next to a cup of deep, red tea, still steaming and hot to the touch. It smells of saccharine spices, meant to fill his belly with pure warmth. 

He sits there holding the cup between his palms and waits for Eliott to put on some _music that will enhance the still atmospher_ e, as he's stated. Lucas blows and takes a sip. 

A multitude of books is scattered all over varying surfaces and he wonders if some of the candles with their twinkling flame should mayhaps be placed elsewhere. Not that Eliott's apartment will burn down prematurely. He tells Eliott as much. 

"It's about the ambience, love. If I change the- ah!" 

And with that, a soft sound fills the room. Glinting sunlight filters through the half drawn curtains. 

_The snow is melting into the ground, -_

Swiftly, the scales are tipping in his favor.

_-Healing feeling, cold is leaving-_

Just like that. 

_-The wind is playing that summer sound._

  
  


He feels immeasurably blessed. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


The wind is so strong; even down here. A particularly harsh breeze lets his skin tingle as though he's been slapped. It's roaring loudly, high-pitched screams tuning out every other noise, even the fast pace in which his heart pumps the blood through his system. Lucas tightens the hold around his shins; concentrates on his senses. 

It's misty all around him. Not so much as that shapes and shadows couldn't be made out in an instant, even with eyes encased in a layer of tears, though it only adds to the elusive quality of the scenery. A nebulous sheen that's unmoving yet incorporeal. The waves not too far away from the shore are wild and high, stark ripples and white foam build a violent sight and he can't tear his blurry gaze away. It's nothing compared to the storm raging inside of him. 

The air smells of salt and wetness, unsurprisingly, and it's almost viscous - surely sharp and biting - as it travels down his respiratory tract. He swallows heavily. 

It's a strange kind of comfort to come seek at the same patch of coast - to be on his way to the same area of sea - time and time again. This place knows so much about him and he can't even recall the name of any city nearby; it hadn't interested him as he'd chosen it in a frenzy. And it still doesn't. There's no required balance to be held with a place; you take what you need and vanish or let yourself get lost. 

In this exact moment he's incomprehensibly thankful it's so hectic and turbulent and he's the only soul ever coming here. 

  
  


If he sat here any longer, he wouldn't be able to get up, to even move his limbs, for that they'd freeze up in this cowered position held by despair. 

He's never done it quite like this before. It's worse today. He can't remember if it has ever been this gruesome, this infernal. 

His body trembles and shakes as he gets up, still he's able to switch a location seamlessly, in a matter of milliseconds. 

It looks way higher than anticipated, from up here. The ledge is broad and sharp-edged, made of dark stone turned caliginous and rough; there's only few greenness. A small, tenacious plant had fought its way through a fissure close to his feet and he catches sight of it as he stares into the abyss, calculating briefly whether he will dive in without crashing and hurting any organs. 

His phrenetic mind is silenced for the moment. 

It's absurd. He shouldn't even have noticed it and yet here he is; about to put a plan into action that barely even lives up to its term. It shouldn't be here, existing. It is; it does. These brief musings turn into a peculiar form of connection right before his eyes. 

In a blink it's gone. 

The scorching chaos inside his head returns in full force, growing and spreading and feasting on him. It can't reach his cold skin; trapped by its own doing. Fear yields need and he takes a last step towards the brink. 

He knows the depth won't be gentle with him. He prays to the sea to save him as it has done before. To take away his pain and bring tranquility. To extinguish. 

  
  


_Please, please, please._

  
  
  


He looks up at the infinite sky, takes in a final breath - 

  
  
  
  


and falls. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading it! If so, I'd be happy about kudos/comments <3  
> The title is inspired by All I See by Portair & the lyrics in this work are from Wicker by The Fourth Son.  
> (@nachtumringt on tumblr)


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